


Rivers and Roads

by dianasilverman



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon - Book, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Resolved Sexual Tension, Road Trips, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-01-16 00:24:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21262061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dianasilverman/pseuds/dianasilverman
Summary: Brienne Tarth has a beat up van, time to kill, and no money for gas. Jaime Lannister has the clothes on his back, nowhere to be for the rest of time, and a credit card his father hasn't frozen yet. When they meet on a desert road, they come to an arrangement.





	1. Brienne: Flight from Sunspear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lightninginabottle0613](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightninginabottle0613/gifts).

Brienne Tarth was calm and reliable. Methodical, even. People had been telling her as much for years, usually as a complement, occasionally in lieu of coming out and calling her boring. Of course, people called her boring, too, but she’d learned to ignore that insult along with all the others.

It was with scientific precision then, that she packed up her hotel room in the Shadow City the day she was fired. _You weren’t fired_, she told herself, repeating it like a prayer. _Everyone in the campaign lost their jobs when Renly dropped out of the race_. That was true enough, but a traitorous part of her mind asked _and why, exactly, did he drop out?_ Instead of listening to her guilt, Brienne folded her shirts in neat squares, sleeves tucked in, collars in place so they wouldn’t wrinkle. She stacked her backpack atop her suitcase by the door. She checked every last corner of the room for spare belongings. Left a star on the nightstand for the maid. Pulled her ancient Folkswagon out of the hotel parking lot. Put on an old Windblown album and merged onto the Boneway.

She had never believed the rumors about Dornish drivers before coming to Sunspear, but that day she was grateful they had turned out to be true. The death-defying driving was a welcome distraction. _Not that I need one_, she told herself stubbornly. Everything was in order. She just had to get to… where? Not Tarth. Her father would be welcoming and understanding. He would also ask about her personal life. No, she had decided in the aftermath of the leak, it would have to be Winterfell. Catelyn Stark’s invitation to join her personal detail had been the raft Brienne had clung to throughout the chaos. For whatever reason, the older woman believed her account of what had happened. That made Mrs. Stark an anomaly.__

Winterfell it was, then. There was, however, the slightly sticky matter of what she was planning to do in the meantime. The incumbent Hand’s wife was a relatively minor figure who would only be needed in the general election. Brienne, by extension, would be out of a job for at least the next two months. That was assuming Robert Baratheon made it through the remaining Kingdom’s votes, a likely enough prospect, but not one Brienne would have staked her livelihood on, if she’d been given a choice. Dorne, traditionally the first province to hold elections, had declared for Aegon Blackfyre. _If I’d known I’d be hoping for_ Robert Baratheon _to win a month ago… _She didn’t finish the thought. The whole world felt unstable, but at least she had a place to go, a reason to go there, and a highway that had changed from five lanes of chaos to two lanes of sand while she wasn’t paying attention. It was beautiful; snaking gracefully through the deserts and mesas, framed against a burning sunset. Her music had been cut off hours ago due to poor reception, but the sound of wind could have almost been the ocean. Looking ahead, she relaxed.

Her gas light came on. _Seven Hells. _

She needed an exit. What the Varagon lacked in pickup it made up for in ability to guzzle gas. The country around her had, unfortunately, turned to the middle of nowhere while she wasn’t paying attention. Mile after mile passed with no signs. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel and her usual calm had been replaced by twitchy denial. There was _no way_ she could be stranded. The gods owed her at least that much after the week she’d had, right?

By the time a likely exit appeared, she was holding back tears. Fortunately, Yellowtail, Dorne, had a gas station, which was more than could be said for the last few towns she’d passed. As she pulled up to the pump, her heartbeat slowed fractionally, and she laughed despite herself. _You weren’t fired, not really. You’ll be back on the road soon. Everything is fine_.

She owed herself something sweet, she decided, heading into the tiny convenience store. One of the few privileges of being a freakishly tall female bodyguard was feeling relatively safe in places other women would never go alone. The only other people inside were an obviously stoned youth behind the counter and a man in crumpled shirtsleeves staring into the beer cooler like it held all the secrets of the universe. Brienne grabbed a Mopatis Bar and headed for the register.

“Just this and twenty stags on pump three,” she said.

“Gods be good, you’re a woman!” Clearly, the store’s only other customer had only realised this shocking fact upon hearing her voice.

Brienne stiffened, but kept control of herself. Over the years, she’d developed stock responses to the comments she received most often, so she was prepared. “And you’re-” _incredibly observant, now if you’ll pardon me _“-Jaime Lannister.”

His clothes were filthy, he appeared not to have shaved for days, and his normally golden hair was so dirty it seemed almost brown, but that smirk was distinctive. He was the Baratheon Administration’s favorite talking head, anyone who watched RNN would have recognised his (perfect) face. Even in the harsh fluorescents, his green eyes were striking.

He was clearly about to say something, but the sound of the chip reader cut him off. Brienne’s card was declined. _Fuck._

If he said something then, Brienne didn’t hear it. Everything she’d been holding together was crashing down on her. Abandoning her chocolate, she ran from the store, already beginning to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yellowtail is based on a real highway exit like many locations in this fic. It's not a town in the strictest sense, but it is a scary place to run out of gas.


	2. Jaime: Dornish Sands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime convinces Brienne to take him with her, at least for the moment. In a small town, he finds a terrible t-shirt and a worse haircut.
> 
> Note: I'm gifting this to lightninginabottle0613 because this fic inspired the concept -https://archiveofourown.org/works/20847929/chapters/49557893

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Brief, non-serious reference to reactionary hate groups.

Jaime Lannister was turning over a new leaf. At least, that’s what he’d told himself all through his flight from Sunspear. He’d repeated it in his head like a mantra as he fled the lavish hotel where Robert’s entourage had been staying. As he used the loose copper in his pocket to board a bus (his first ever public transportation experience) away from the glittering skyscrapers of downtown and into the Shadow City. As he stood by the side of the Boneway with a thumb extended. Curled in the back of a car amidst ropes and backpacks. Fell into an uneasy sleep.

He had been awoken some hours later to one of the kids who’d picked him up shaking his shoulder and telling him he’d better get out here unless he at least knew how to how to build and clean anchors. As Jaime had no idea what that meant, he parted ways with them in Yellowtail in a cloud of dust as they turned away from the Boneway. He hoped they’d find the dragon he’d left in their cup holder. _A new leaf_.

So far, his grand plan for redemption was not going well. The giantess was the first person he’d said more than two words to since leaving Sunspear, and he’d made her cry. Also, she’d recognised him. With his luck, she’d already called the Crownlands Enquirer, or the King’s Landing Times, if she had class. Either way, she’d soon have enough dragons in her account to drive from here to the Wall. All the same, he darted after her, clutching the store’s entire supply of Mopatis Bars under his arm.

She was leaning against a van so boxy it made her look almost petite when he made it to the parking lot. Her head was tilted back, and her eyes were closed. There were tears running down her cheeks. Bathed as she was in the sole floodlight, she could almost have been a beauty.

“Can I… do you need help?” He was surprised at how hesitant he sounded. Less than twenty-four hours ago, eloquence had been his profession.

“Fuck off.”

“I’m afraid I might’ve made a bad impression.”

“Fuck. Off.” She opened stunningly blue eyes to glare at him.

“Why haven’t you called the press yet?”

“What?” If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought it never occurred to her. Everyone had an angle though.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it. I happen to have Petyr Baelish’s number if you need it.”

“I would never… Besides, I’m out of service. That’s why I’m stuck here. No way to put money in my account.”

“Chocolate?” She was looking at him like he was some kind of interesting fungus, but she took the bar.

“Good. Now that we’ve shared bread and salt, I’d like to offer you a deal. Do you have a name?”

“This isn’t bread. And you’re not eating.”

“Semantics, wench!” The insult slipped out before he remembered that he was supposed to be a good person now. A good person whose only chance of escaping this godsforsaken desert was the wench in question.

“Brienne.”

“Brienne. Here’s the plan; I’ll buy you gas for as long as you can tolerate me. If you want to sell the story of how the Kingslayer hitched a ride in your absurd Folk mobile and made you cry, you’re free to do so when you get back in reception. No hard feelings.”

“How do I know you won’t murder me?” He laughed, giving her a hard look. Even in a baggy tee and slacks, her muscle definition was obvious.

“I’d like to see me try,” he said earnestly.

“You should know that I hate everything you stand for. That I’ve been actively working against people like you for years.”

“There are no people like me. Only me.” He was already swiping his card.

“Just tell me that’s not cocaine on your pants.”

“Oh. I think it’s climbing chalk.”

* * *

The van’s passenger seat had all the softness of concrete, but as soon as Jaime’s head fell back against the headrest, he was asleep. The wench must have been a good driver, or else he was even more drained than he’d given himself credit for, because when he awoke they had stopped, and dawn was breaking. They were parked in what looked like a vacant lot, but claimed to be a city park in Pantigulch, Dorne. The name must’ve either been Rhoynish or invented by someone with a strange sense of humor.

“Where are we?,” he asked groggily.

“Past Godsgrace. Can you… be somewhere else for a while? I need sleep.”

“You’d be safer-” _sleeping with me_, he started to say, before realising how that sounded. “Never mind. I’ll find food if you promise to stay put.”

“Alright.”

As it turned out, they were parked on the main and only true street in the little town. It took Jaime three blocks to find the general store where he bought new clothes and a stack of Mopatis Bars. At the last minute, he added a banana to the haul. Brienne seemed like the kind of person who ate fruit. Within another three blocks, he could see a diner, and he was about to make a beeline for coffee when a sign caught his eye. How the approximately four people who lived here supported a barbershop, and why it was open at six in the morning, he didn’t know, but he crossed the street anyway.

* * *

When he knocked on the van’s window an hour later, balancing two steaming cups of coffee, Brienne woke with a start, and her hands curled into fists until she recognised him. He gave her a jaunty wave.

“Joining the Faith? Open fascism’s a new low, even for you.” Only then did he seriously consider his appearance. He was wearing a ‘Piety, Not Hate’ tee, courtesy of the store’s limited menswear selection. Between that, his half-sleeves, and his shaved head… _Shit_.

“You wound me wench! I needed to change.”

“I’m not sure I want to be seen with a Poor Fellow.”

“Better that than the Kingslayer.”

“You still look like Jaime Lannister. And since when have you had tattoos?”

“Since my eighteenth nameday. You’ve just never seen me without a suit jacket.” He could’ve sworn he saw a blush creep across her cheeks at that, but it could have just been the rising sun.

“The world knew a clean shaven asshole with better hair than his sister," he continued. "No one will recognise me like this.”

“So you’re going to stop being an asshole, then?”

“I’m going to try. No promises.”

The corners of her mouth twitched at that. Her blonde lashes fluttered closed as she took a sip of her coffee, steam curling in the morning chill. She looked almost peaceful, despite her set brow and the hollows under her eyes. For just a moment, Jaime felt peaceful, too.


	3. Brienne: The Red Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to a random patch of cell service, Brienne learns that much and more has transpired since she left. She takes a particular interest in the developing scandal surrounding the arrest of Cersei Lannister-Baratheon.

After Pantigulch, the miles flew by quickly to the gentle acoustic melodies of Abel and the Washerwomen. Outside the van, the wind howled through endless sagebrush. The Red Mountains appeared on the horizon as Brienne was finishing her banana. Even from a distance, the peaks were impressive, forming a craggy red line against the azure sky. As spring had just begun, the mountains still had snow-caps so high up that at first she mistook them for clouds. By the time she finished her terrible diner coffee, they were climbing the foothills on a highway that grew increasingly steep and winding. Beside her, the Kin- _Jaime_ didn’t seem to notice the sharp curves, sleeping fitfully. She’d been surprised when he asked her to only call him by his first name, as he always responded to the pejorative in interviews, never seeming bothered by it. He was the only reason she wasn’t still stuck in Yellowtail, though, so she’d agreed.

The van snaked through a tunnel, and when they emerged, they were in the mountains proper, with a dizzying drop on one side and a rock face on the other. Brienne’s ears popped. They must have come into service just then, because her phone buzzed. And buzzed again. And again. She had been expecting a message or two, probably from her father and probably demanding to know where she was and why she hadn’t been answering, but the steady stream of notifications was another matter. Veering into the next pullout, she retrieved it from the console, moving Jaime’s arm while he slept on.

She had one bar from a Dornish provider, along with eleven texts, three missed calls, and twenty-seven news alerts. Two of the messages and one of the calls were from her father. The rest were a perplexing mix of reassuring (Mrs. Stark, via her assistant, Jeyne), viciously condemning (Loras), and suspicious (Tyrion Lannister, whom she’d never given her number). If the messages were overwhelming, the news alerts were so shocking she felt nauseous. Back in Sunspear, she’d been too preoccupied to pay much attention to the latest Lannister-Baratheon scandal, assuming it involved infidelity like all those that had come before it. It did, apparently, involve infidelity, but also _incest_. And attempted murder.

Cersei Lannister-Baratheon had been sleeping with her cousin, Lancel Lannister. She’d convinced him to get her husband drunk and take him to hunting while they were in Dorne. After President Baratheon was dead, she apparently thought she could govern in his place. The police had her in custody. Someone, apparently her ex-lover from the tone of the conversation, had recorded her telling them her plan, and begging them to step in if it failed. The other person’s voice had been edited so that it was impossible to tell even their gender.

In the passenger seat, Jaime made a small sound and turned over. He looked vulnerable in sleep, both younger and older at once. It was hard to believe he was at the center of the pandemonium she had just read about, but she was sure he was. Why else would he be here?

_Mother's mercy_, she thought, suddenly hyper-aware of the chaos she’d invited into her life. _I need to ask him what’s going on._

“Where are you trying to go, what’s going on?,” she demanded. He could sleep later.

“I’m going away,” he muttered, green eyes fluttering open.

“That’s not a place.”

He shrugged and stretched like a cat. “Nowhere in particular. Not back the way we came, at least until my good-brother and his entourage clear out. And not Lannisport, or King’s Landing, unless I can find a better disguise.”

“I’ve seen the news, Jaime.”

“Ah. And now you want some kind of explanation.” He sighed. “I’m out. For good. Like I should have been years ago.”

The rational part of Brienne’s mind knew that she should doubt him. All the rest of her ached with sympathy for him. Needing desperately to be _away_ was a familiar feeling for her.

“Okay.”

“‘Okay?’ Your towering curiosity is rivaled only by your height, wench.”

“Tell your brother I’m not intending to kidnap you or talk to the press. Ask him how he knows who I am, while you’re at it.”

“I told him I hitched a ride with a blonde Amazon who hates our family. He told me you’re likely Brienne Tarth, Renly Baratheon’s bodyguard, and ‘anonymous source close to the candidate’ of some notoriety. His people must’ve found your number for him. ”

“I _never_…” she spat, but he cut her off.

“I know. Anyone who’d spent more than five minutes with you would see you’re idealistic to the point of stupidity and kind besides.” _That makes two people who believe me._

She didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted, so she let quiet settle between them. It lasted until the first line of mountains was behind them and another loomed ahead. She told herself that bickering and sullen silences were good. The sneering way he’d said ‘stupid’ reminded her of the person he was on TV; glib, insensitive, quick to anger, and slow to take anything seriously. Hating that man was a simple thing; miles easier than making sense of the one who rode beside her.

_Just because he’s beautiful and currently downtrodden doesn’t mean he deserves your sympathy_.

For the first time since she’d had it, the van felt claustrophobic. Fortunately, they were approaching the first town they’d seen since leaving Pantigulch. Its exit sign advertised food, gas, and…

“Hot springs?”

“Lead on,” Jaime said.


	4. Jaime: Mystic Hot Springs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick side trip to bathe in some hot springs turns more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: references to mental illness, abuse, and suicide.

The entrance to the hot springs turned out to be located on the outskirts of yet another tiny town, this one with a name in the common tongue, but a culture that was all Rhoynish. They followed hand painted signs through winding streets of houses built from clay and sandstone. None of the buildings stood higher than two stories, but they boasted lots filled with blooming cacti and twisted wooden sculptures, bleached as white as weirwood by the sun and sand. At the end of a dirt road stood a trailer with another painted sign proclaiming ‘Mystic Hot Springs Tickets’. Someone had covered its sheet metal sides in Grateful Undead lyrics and swirling, colourful illustrations. Jaime suspected Shade of the Evening had been involved.

As it turned out, the springs themselves were only accessible via a steep trek into the sandstone hills. When Jaime said he didn’t mind, Brienne bought two tickets (“it’s only five stags each, and you bought gas, don’t be ridiculous”) while he grabbed a tye dye tee at random from the open air gift shop someone had set up in the wreck of a van not unlike hers. When he came back, she had produced a bathing suit and towels from her suitcase. She gave him a critical glance, then disappeared into the back of the van and reemerged with two battered pairs of hiking boots.

“These should fit you alright,” she said, handing him the less dusty pair.

He changed his shirt, earning himself a sideways glare, and put the boots on.

“Now you just look like the bartender somewhere that only sells seven stag craft ales.”

“Is that better or worse than a Poor Fellow?”

“Don’t make me rank your personas. You might not like how ‘Jaime Lannister’ shakes out in the mix.”

“Always so cruel, wench. What’d I ever do?”

She gave him a hard look at that. _Ah. It always comes back to Aerys_.

“C’mon, then.”

She set off down the trail, not bothering to slow her long strides for him. He didn’t mind, not really. He should have known that morning’s truce would not last. _Just because she’s been kind doesn’t mean she hasn’t judged you as harshly as everyone else_.

By the time the springs appeared from behind a cluster of crumbling sandstone pillars, Jaime’s feet were aching in his oversized shoes, and his legs felt wobbly beneath him. The climb had been hard enough to warm him despite the lingering chill in the air. Brienne had beat him, apparently by enough that she’d found time to change. When he turned the corner, the straps of her cobalt one piece were pulled down, and she was putting sunscreen on wide white shoulders. He must have stared then, because when she looked up she frowned at him and pushed off the ledge she was sitting on, hiding under the water.

He unlaced his boots and set them down in the sand. The water emerged steaming from a crack in the rock behind them, and flowed into a number of pools, both natural and man made.

“There’s another pool,” Brienne said when she saw him taking his shirt off. He shivered at the cold air against his skin.

“This one suits me just fine.”

“Keep those on!,” she exclaimed when he took his briefs off. He stretched ostentatiously just to see her blush. That turned out to be a bad idea; he wasn’t very steady on his feet after the climb.

“I’ll put them back on if more people show up.”

“I’m not ‘people’?”

“Relax, wench. You’re _my_ people.” The water was perfect; he sunk in past his waist and sat across from her.

“It’s good to see you’re keeping Dawn Age attitudes alive.”

“My father always did believe in traditional values.”

“And you?”

“I went away inside years ago. I’ve only just come back.” Whatever she’d been expecting him to say, that wasn’t it. She looked almost as shocked as he felt.

“Was that before or after you betrayed President Targaryen?”

He sighed. She’d said it softly, but there was accusation in her voice all the same. In all the years that had passed, he’d never told anyone his side. No one would have believed him. She wouldn’t either, but he found himself wanting to tell her anyway.

“Aerys was stockpiling wildfire under King’s Landing. The old reserves had been cleared out after the Lorath Summit, but he was bringing them back, against the treaties, hiding tonnes of the world’s most volatile explosive under a city of millions.”

“Why wasn’t that the story?”

“I had no evidence, only hearsay. Aerys was nothing if not suspicious.”

“He trusted you with his medical information, though.”

“He let me handle his illness because he’d survived inquiries into his mental health before. He didn’t think anyone cared.”

Thinking back on the papers he’d copied back when he was a PA, both the ones the public had seen and those they hadn’t, Jaime felt sick. Aerys’ stack of prescriptions and diagnoses had only confirmed what everyone suspected, but Rhaella’s trauma reports had been graphic enough to make him nauseous, then and now.

“Wasn’t there another way…”

“If I’d known he’d blow his brains out when the story broke, I _still_ would have done it. You might have too, for millions of people. If you’d heard his wife screaming, if you’d read the things he did to her...” There was a part of him that saw the aesthetic quality in violence, and it was this part that enjoyed watching horror spread over Brienne’s face as he spoke. The rest of him longed for her understanding.

He tried not to think on that day, but when he did, he remembered it only in bits and pieces. The judgement in Ned Stark’s cold grey eyes when they found the body. Former aides and former enemies alike scrambling to stabilize and remove the wildfire before the public could find out it was there. Rhaella’s stricken face when her eldest son and his lawyers came to take her and her children away from the Red House. She’d cried that she didn’t want to go to Braavos, that her place was with her husband. Decades later, the memory was enough to make it hard to breathe.

“Jaime,” Brienne started, but he was lost in the memories. Sun and exhaustion must have gotten to him then because he lurched backward, and she propelled herself across the pool to prop him up before his head could hit the side. The last thing he registered was the sound of her crying his name.

* * *

The next time he was fully conscious, he was in a strange room, wrapped in a sleeping bag. His head was pounding. No, not a room, he saw, the back of the van. Some of it came back to him; Brienne lifting him out of the pool, stumbling down the hillside with her arm around him.

“I don’t think you’re in shock, at least not medically speaking, but we should lay low anyway,” she said when she saw he was awake. The hatch was open, and her long legs were dangling over the edge.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“It’s after five. I brought food,” she said, gesturing to a plate of chickpea paste with vegetables, plus bread and blood oranges.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Eat.”

“Should I call you mother instead of wench?”

“My name is Brienne.”

“Sorry. Thank you for- you didn’t have to do any of this.”

“I don’t know everything that’s happened to you, but I know what you’re feeling. What it’s like to survive something.” She said it with a quiet urgency that stopped him from questioning her. “And you’re going to survive this, whatever it is.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s the only way to beat the people who hurt you.”

For once, he didn’t have a retort, so instead he sat up and took an orange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit difficult to make work with the modern AU, so I hope you like it!


	5. Brienne: Marches to Summerhall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Jaime isn't sleeping all the time, he won't stop _talking_.

By unspoken agreement, Brienne and Jaime spent four nights camped in the van by the entrance to the hot springs. Fortunately, the locals didn’t seem to mind. The couple who ran the gift shop seemed more than happy to let their odd visitors stay, as long as they kept buying barleycorn salad and tie dye shirts. After the first night, Brienne was fairly sure Jaime wasn’t going to collapse if she left him alone, so she spent her days hiking in the hills and exploring the winding streets of the little town. She didn’t know what Jaime did during the day, but she came back every evening to find him damp from the springs and draped over her luggage, so she supposed he was taking advantage of the opportunity to rest. At night, they slept side by side in the back of the van. Ever since Highgarden, she had insisted on sleeping well away from anyone else, but she didn’t mind somehow. She still put a backpack between them, though.

Their last day, she returned from finding breakfast to see Jaime on the roof of the van in nothing but a pair of her shorts, apparently sunbathing. She didn’t know why he thought he needed to; his tan had returned, along with his self-satisfied grin. It was then that she’d decided they should move on.

There was a distinct downside to getting back on the road, as she’d learned mere minutes after merging back onto the Boneway: now that he’d stopped sleeping all the time, Jaime Lannister would not shut up. It started innocently enough (“where’s our next stop,” to which she’d replied “probably Summerhall, if we make good time”) and progressed to an interrogation to rival the most dramatic Great Council hearings. Her typical strategy of blasting her loudest music to kill conversation didn’t work on him (“wench, did you know Viserys Targareyn sued the Dead Targaryens over the name,” to which she’d replied “yes” and turned up the volume to no avail). She had the distinct feeling she was being mocked. _Why in Gods’ name would he be so interested otherwise?_

“Are you a _Tarth_ Tarth,” he asked when she’d given up on punk and changed the playlist. She nodded.

“There are lots of people with that name on the island. Supposedly, the original Tarths were lords.”

“What’s a noble lady from the Sapphire Isle doing so far from home?”

“I’m not, we’re not… never mind.”

“Forgive me if my jest has given offense, your worship.”

“Only Ghiscari kings and warlords used ‘your worship,’ even in the Age of Ice and Fire. I’d be ‘my lady’, or ‘m’lady’, depending on the speaker’s class.”

“My lady’s as educated as she’s witty.”

“Oh, bugger off,” she snapped. He looked almost hurt at that. “I minored in history,” she volunteered.

“What was your major?” _Why do you care?_

“I studied political science in Evenfall, and went to Storm’s End for law school.” He whistled.

“You’re a criminally overqualified bodyguard.”

“I did more than most people were aware of,” she admitted. In truth, she’d quietly borne more responsibility than anyone else in the campaign, save Loras and Margaery.

“Why didn’t you take credit?”

“Not everything is about personal gain.” She’d snapped at him again. “It’s a long story,” she sighed.

“I’ve nothing but time, if you change your mind.” _There’s an imbalance_, she realised, _he’s told me an awful story of his, now he wants one of mine_.

“I’ll tell you. Someday.”

That apparently satisfied him, because she was treated to a blessed thirty seconds of silence. Tom Sevenstream’s smooth synth filled the van.

“What’s your favorite colour?” _Stranger take me_.

“Blue.”

“Conversation is a give and take, you know.”

“Have you never heard of companionable silence?”

“Entertain me, wench. The marches are deadly boring.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Sometime in between answering questions about her bodyguard training (“could you judo flip me? You look like you could, and I mean that in a good way”) and answering questions about the van (“it was my dad’s. Yes, it’s exactly as old as it looks”) the landscape had turned from mountains to grassland. If she’d had to guess, she would’ve estimated that cattle outnumbered people ten to one.

“Fine. Jaime, what’s your favorite colour?”

“Oh. I wasn’t expecting you to actually ask. I’ve no idea.”

“It’s not red?”

“No. Blue, maybe.”

“Hey!”

“You don’t own the concept of blue.”

“Try me.” He laughed.

“I desist! I forgot you went to law school.”

“Didn’t you?” She’d assumed he must have. After all, his obnoxiously perfect face was a fixture of the news cycle, with the banner underneath labeling him an expert adviser to the president.

“I’m not…” his expression darkened, and he seemed to be planning his next words carefully, “good at that sort of thing. Not really. I’d be nothing if not for my last name.”

“Bullshit.”

“If you say so.”

“I don’t just say so. What you did…” But he’d turned to face her and she felt her blush rising. Even with her gaze fixed stubbornly on the road ahead, she could feel the intensity of his green eyes. He reached a hand into the empty space between them. For a moment, she thought he was going to squeeze her shoulder or maybe her thigh. For a moment, she wanted him to. It was only when he clearly thought better of it and drew back that she realized the heat wasn’t only in her cheeks. _Fuck_.

He said something then, and in the course of a few questions and a few monosyllabic answers, he’d resumed his questioning as though nothing had happened. He probably didn’t even realise something had. 

That night, though, lying in a motel room in Summerhall, she turned the moment over in her head. She stared at the ceiling, unable to think of anything but the way he'd looked at her when she almost told him she thought he was brave. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel his hand closing the distance between them, warm against her skin. Knowing how crushes (she forced herself to use the stupid, juvenille word to describe the stupid, juvenille feeling) always worked out for her didn’t stop her from missing the nights they’d spent with no walls between them.


	6. Jaime: Summerhall to Ashford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast, a long drive, and a pleasant dream.

“More waffles?”

“Gods, Jaime, no!,” Brienne protested. She was sitting across from him in the cracked vinyl booth of a diner, freshly showered and smelling of piney soap. She’d ordered a sensible omelette and wheat toast for herself, and then surreptitiously asked if she could have some of his waffles. Her tone had been that of a person currently conducting a drug deal.

“C’mon. You’ve earned it.”

“I have?”

“You exercise in the mornings.”

“How’d you know?’

“You’re always all-” he gestured vaguely at her, with her damp blonde hair falling softly in her face, and her cheeks glowing, “-pink. So either you work out, or you picked up a secret lover in Dorne and hid him in the luggage.”

“Kind of you to eliminate that possibility so quickly.”

“It’s a compliment. The last time I left you alone was at the hot springs, and you’re too good for white guys with dreadlocks. Unless, is it girls?”

“Umm, no. I tried, but… no.”

“You _tried_?”

Just then, the waitress came by to refill their coffees.

“Another order of waffles, please,” he told her. When she’d gone, he turned back to Brienne.

“Alright. Tell me everything.”

“Jaime…,” she buried her face in her hands. She was laughing, though; he saw a grin in between her fingers.

“We have to wait for the waffles anyway.”

“The waffles _you_ ordered.”

“Always so argumentative, wench.”

“Fine. If you’re a creep, though, you’ll be disappointed.”

“How dare you insinuate I’m a creep?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re practically holding me hostage in this diner and demanding to know about my lesbian exploits.”

“There were exploits?”

“No! I kissed a friend at a party. _Once_.”

“Does this mystery girl have a name?”

“Margaery Tyrell.” Her defiant tone was that of someone expecting disbelief, but that would’ve required coherent thought, so she wasn’t met with any.

“Was there a ladder, or…”

“A couch. We were drunk, and I agreed to try it because I thought… well-” she waved a hand in front of her face.

He might have said ‘I like your face’, but the waffles arrived, saving him. She took a bite and sat back, her long legs brushing his. There was a crease between her brows.

“I’m sorry if I went too far. I don’t know how to talk to women.”

“Speaking as a woman, you shouldn’t talk to us any differently than anyone else.”

“I know, it’s just… I’ve never spent this much time with one I’m not related to.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Really?”

“Don’t fish.”

“It’s true, though. There was someone, a long time ago, and she was… not good for me. We weren’t good for each other. And I’ve moved on, but at the same time, I haven’t, if that makes any sense.” _None of that was a lie_, he told himself, but if that was the case, then why did he feel so guilty?

“It does,” she said, looking thoughtful. “Hey, what would you say to Highgarden?”

“I’d say it’s a long way, so we should split the driving.”

“I’ll only trust you with the van if you promise not to treat it like some Lysene sports car. No speeding.” He was about to protest the unfair stereotype about rich people, but then he remembered Honor, the shiny red sixteenth birthday present from his uncle Gerion.

“Deal. While I’m at it, I’ll start wearing matching socks and paying my taxes.”

“You don’t pay your taxes?”

“Wait. People _do_?”

“Mother have mercy!”

He brushed a speck of whipped cream from her nose before he could think better of it.

* * *

It had been nearly sixteen years since Jaime had slept with anyone. There’d been that last vicious time in a sept closet the day they buried Aerys, and then nothing. He’d come close again, months later, after Tyrion set him up with a friend of a cowed enemy of an associate. Her name had been… Helga? No, he’d remember a name like Helga. In any case, she was his age, with a plain face that he found comforting after Cersei’s weaponized beauty. That, combined with her blunt humor and several glasses of wine, had gotten them all the way to fumbling on his couch before he bolted. He’d hidden in his car and waited for his breathing to slow, feeling the sting of Cersei’s slap on his cheek as if he were still at the funeral. When he returned to his apartment, it was empty. He kept it that way.

All in all, celibacy suited him well enough. Sometimes he flirted with women he found attractive just to remember he could still feel that way, but he never went farther than the odd compliment. He couldn’t bear to have that kind of chaos in his life again.

Through all those years, it had never been a problem, not really. Until circumstances conspired to make him spend nearly all his waking hours with Brienne Tarth. _And most of your sleeping hours, too_, he thought wryly, vowing to leave a dragon behind for whoever had to change the sheets in this motel room.


	7. Brienne: Highgarden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is feeling the weight of her past and Jaime, being a Lannister, cheers her up the best way he can think of: wine.

Brienne woke their first morning in Highgarden to a soft grey dawn, fog rolling in off the Mander to cloak the city. She stretched, wondering to herself why hotels insist on such huge beds. There was enough empty space in this one to make even her feel small.

Trying to shake off her unease, she rose and changed into her workout clothes. By the time they had pulled into the hotel the night before, she had been too exhausted to really think about where they were. Now, though, forcing herself out into the city was almost comically difficult. It took a long moment of concentration for her to step over her room’s threshold. And another to leave the hotel lobby. Then, she was standing on a cobblestone street, breathing in the mingled smells of river and flowers. And then she was running.

Her sneakers beat a familiar path down one of the city’s quieter boulevards, through cobbled squares and past the ruins of a white curtain wall. She was pushing herself too hard, she knew, but she didn’t care. She welcomed aching legs and strained lungs, as long as her mind was quiet. Only when she reached her destination did she realize she had one: Mace Tyrell’s mansion rose up ahead of her, huge and white. Even on a street full of stately old houses, its sheer grandeur set it apart. In between white columns and marble fountains grew lush beds of early season flowers and roses just beginning to bud. Behind the house itself, Brienne knew, was a carriage house three times the size of the one she grew up in. It was here she had stayed during her internship. Here she had been invited across the hall for beers with the other interns (all men, a fact she had tried to ignore). Had found herself a drink or two past tipsy, with Hyle Hunt’s tongue in her mouth. Her first kiss.

For just a moment, she let all the confusion and sick shame of the past wash over her. Then, she turned away from the house, feeling utterly exhausted, despite the early hour. When she returned to the hotel, Jaime came to her soft knock still sleepy, smoothing down nonexistent bed-head as if by habit. He beamed when she offered him breakfast in the trendy coffee shop across the street, and agreed to meet her in twenty minutes, after she cleaned up. It turned out he had to shower too, and so it took them forty minutes, but she didn’t mind. He watched her over his steaming cup of coffee, green eyes pensive. Mercifully, he didn’t pry, just made inane jokes, mostly at the expense of their fellow patrons. By the end of their meal, she found herself laughing.

* * *

“Wine?”

“No.”

“C’mon,” he implored, taking her hand and pulling her towards a little shop with a chalk sign advertising Arbor Gold. Its gas lamps twinkled enticingly in the deepening twilight. “If not for you, then for me.”

“What do you need wine for?”

“I’m under great emotional duress,” he said jovially. “I’ve lost my looks and the job I hate. Worse, I’m stuck in Highgarden with a wench who hates roses.”

“I do not hate roses.” She thought of the bouquet Ron Connington gave her, of Mr. Tarly telling her she should have known better than to think that anyone would ever be so kind to her.

“I tried to buy you some and you told me to ‘bugger off.’”

“Fine. Sorry. It’s…” There was an amorphous cloud of things unsaid hanging between them, and in that moment she could feel it like something physical. “Wine might be good, actually. Would you mind if we slept in the van tonight, though? It’s getting expensive staying in hotels.” Selfishly, stupidly, she wanted him near her.

“No, of course not. We’ll make it fun, watch a movie or something.”

* * *

So there they were, propped side by side under a frayed old blanket, with Brienne’s laptop resting between them. From time to time, Jaime would pass her the bottle of Dornish strongwine, still wrapped in its paper bag. Theoretically, they were watching The Great Mockingbird (Jaime’s choice, she’d always thought Petyr was an idiot). In reality, Brienne hadn’t registered anything past the opening credits. She was lost in a kind of formless melancholy.

If any of the men involved in the bet had asked her out, she knew she would have turned them down. It had only taken a moment of breathless panic for her to shove Hyle away. When he complained that he was going to have a bruise, she’d felt nothing but fierce pride. Still. It would be nice, just once, to have someone to turn down. _Or, Gods forbid, someone_…

A heavy arm settled over her shoulder.

Jaime had pulled her into a sideways hug, apparently unconscious of their awkward height difference. She started, but couldn’t bear to move away. Drink and quiet companionship made it all too easy to relax into his embrace. He slid his arm down to wrap around her waist, resting his head against her side. Before she could lose her nerve, she pulled him closer, more fiercely than she intended. When he hummed contentedly, she thought she could feel it down to her toes. _This is a very bad idea_.

Warm, sleepy hours slipped by, so that the next thing Brienne knew, she was opening her eyes to another misty morning. Fortunately, she had given Jaime her old sleeping bag and wrapped herself in a protective cocoon of blankets sometime the night before, else she would have clung to him while they slept, much as she wanted to do now. With some effort, she forced herself to stop thinking about him, to pull on her sneakers and climb out through the passengers seat. She breathed in the cool morning air. Instead of panic, she felt only a curious lightness. Changing course after only a few long strides, she turned back to bang on the door of the van and ask Jaime if he wanted to run with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to need to only update weekly right now, but I promise I have lots more to share, as soon as I find time to write <3 <3 <3


	8. Jaime: Unincorporated Coastal Westerlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After they leave Highgarden, Jaime introduces Brienne to one of his favorite childhood haunts; a retro motel right by the ocean. It's a perfect place to swim and watch the sunset.

To Jaime’s surprise and delight, their one day in Highgarden turned into two, then three. From Brienne’s long silences that first morning, he had been expecting a much shorter visit, but he definitely didn’t mind. In the end, they spent over a week there, and could have easily spent more; there were enough museums, lush parks, and kitschy shops (which Brienne pretended to hate) to keep them occupied forever. They even toured the ruins of the castle the city was named for. Its crumbling white walls were overgrown with climbing roses and its floors were warped by the roots of the ancient oak trees that grew in its courtyards. After, she let him buy her a bouquet of winter roses.

One morning, however, the dawn fog didn’t come, and without it the city became stiflingly hot and humid. Brienne suggested they go somewhere cooler, and when Jaime said he knew a place, she trusted him unquestioningly. 

Now, they were following a gently curving road through miles of stately coastal redwoods that glowed in the afternoon sun, with the sound of the ocean in the distance. Brienne was in the driver’s seat, the forest reflected in her blue aviators. From the curve of her jaw to her wide shoulders, she held herself without the tension he’d thought was part of her. Even her hands were relaxed on the wheel. She didn’t seem to notice him studying her, but that, he reminded himself, didn’t give him permission to. All his life, he’d never had a friend like her (were they friends? It seemed like the only even somewhat applicable term), and here he was, creeping ever closer to ruining things. She was so selfless, so grounded, so entirely good. _Too good for you entirely. Still, if she wanted- fuck!_ Painfully aware that she was in the seat beside him, he willed himself to think of something, anything else.

_What would she say if she knew about Cersei?_ The thought felt like sinking into ice cold water.

“County road 280?,” Brienne asked, completely unaware of the panicking she was interrupting.

“Yeah.”

Jaime knew he’d picked a perfect spot when they turned a corner and Brienne smiled. His childhood best friend, Addam, had been dating a girl from the public high school in Lannisport who brought them to The Palms Cafe and Motel for the first time. The relationship had lasted all of six months, but he and Addam came back for weekends by the beach all through school. Only a few hours’ drive, it was the perfect spot for teenage shenanigans: shabby but clean, with cheap food, and nearly a mile of beach to itself. More than thirty years had passed since he’d last been here, but it was exactly the same. The rambling YiTish Rope plant hanging over the reception desk was probably older than he was.

“All we have are singles,” the elderly clerk said, consulting her guestbook, “would you like a king or queen?”

There was a moment of charged silence while Jaime waited for Brienne to ask for two rooms. They’d spent every night for the past week mere inches apart, but that didn’t mean…

“King,” she said, avoiding his eyes. He suppressed a grin.

* * *

“You should be a professional swimmer, wench. Or one of those people who goes diving for old vases,” he told her when she waded out of the Sunset Sea, where she’d been doing laps while he pretended to be watching the sunset. She sat down next to him and hugged her knees to her chest.

“The next time I see someone’s hiring ‘vase divers,’ I’ll apply.”

“Seriously. You’re incredible.”

“I went to the beach almost every weekend as a kid, and I was on the swim team all through middle school.”

“I was, too! But I never had the focus to do much more than thrash around, and my father made me quit to join the debate team, so…”

“I quit, too.”

“Why?”

“I know there’s wine in there.” He handed her the bottle from where it had been stashed under a towel. The last rays of sunlight glowed in her wet hair as she leaned in to take it.

“Swimsuits,” she said after a sip, “they made the girls wear racerback swimsuits, and joining the boys team would have meant going topless.”

“You’d be glorious-” _topless_ “in a racerback swimsuit. I mean, now, not when you were in middle school, but-” _dig yourself a little deeper, why don’t you?_

“The suits weren’t really the problem, I was. I shouldn’t try to be different than I am, you know?”

“I _genuinely_ don’t, Brienne.”

“In Highgarden, back when I was an intern,” she started, seeming unsure of how to continue.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said gently.

“I do, though. I want you to understand.” She set her gaze determinedly on the horizon, brow furrowed. “In Highgarden, back when I was an intern, I was the only woman on the team, and some of the guys were… kind to me. They started getting me coffee, letting me in on their jokes, even telling me I looked nice. One of them bought me a dozen roses. I was still so young, I was just happy to be accepted. I never thought of any of them romantically. Then, one night, I went across the hall for a drink, and- well, I found out later, it was all a lie. They had a bet to see who could be Brienne the Beauty’s first. Not that any of them succeeded. I punched Hyle, and all he did was kiss me.” A single tear slid down her cheek.

“Give me names.” _I might not have father’s army of lawyers behind me, but maybe Tyrion or Daenerys Targaryen…_

“It was years ago, and it was partly my fault for being so stupid anyway, I mean, who would want to kiss me? But it shows you why I didn’t want to wear a tiny swimsuit, why I shouldn’t try to be something I’m not, why I shouldn’t even hope-”

“I would,” he said, cutting her off mid soliloquy.

“You would _what_, Jaime? Gods, I knew-”

“I would kiss you. If you wanted.”

That made her pause with a sharp hitch in her breath. She met his eyes, and hers were full of wonder.

“Okay,” she whispered.

He leaned in, one hand cupping her jaw. When she reached out tentatively to wrap her arms around his neck, he could feel her shaking. He drew her in, so close their noses brushed. And then-

“There’s something I should tell you.” Instead of kissing her, he rested his forehead against hers, enjoying these last few moments of her not hating him. “The woman, my ex, the one who wasn’t good for me… she’s also Cersei. My sister.”

“Oh.” Brienne drew away.

“It was true, everything I told you about her: we haven’t been together in a long time, and I’m over her, I swear by the old gods and the new.”

She was looking at him with an expression he had to assume was of horror. He had known she would react like this, even before he told her, but what was he supposed to do? She had to know, it seemed fundamentally wrong that he let her kiss him if she didn’t.

“I’m going to swim out again before it gets dark.”

“Brienne-”

“Give me time, Jaime. I’ll see you back at the room.” With that, she turned and was gone, striding into the waves.


	9. Brienne: The Sunset Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne weighs how to move forward after Jaime’s confession.

By the time Brienne staggered out of the water, breathing hard from swimming, night had fallen. She found her way back to The Palms by the light of a million stars. Jaime was sleeping, or else faking it well. Either way, she showered and changed quietly to avoid waking him. When she slipped into bed beside him, he was curled in on himself facing the wall, in a most un-Jaime-like manner. He usually slept spread out like a fuzzy starfish. She felt a pang of sympathy so acute her breath caught.

Tentatively, she reached out and wrapped an arm around him, holding him gently against her. This, she thought she could do. It was far easier than trying to talk to him. It was easier still than trying to reconcile the man who slept so peacefully in her arms, the man who said he wanted to kiss her, with the amoral chauvinist she knew from RNN, the one who _slept with his sister_.

The past few weeks, he’d been casually surprising her in a million little ways. She’d thought she was learning to see the person hidden behind the persona; someone unexpectedly kind. Someone she could love, even unrequitedly.

The past few hours had changed everything. In the course of a single conversation, she had shared her worst memory and found someone to take her side. She had known, however briefly, what it was to hope your feelings were reciprocated. She had been a mere heartbeat away from a real first kiss. Only to have it all washed away in a wave of confusion.

She’d thought she’d given her tears to the ocean, but apparently not.

_Okay. Okay, Brienne, you’re alright. Everything’s fine. Just figure your shit out_.

What she needed to know, more than anything, was whether she could get past what Jaime told her. He fucked his sister (she forced herself to use the ugliest term. Euphemisms wouldn’t make it any less awful). And, okay, she believed him when he said it was a long time ago, but still. Could she get past that? The most rational part of her wanted to take more time to piece together a better picture of this man before she trusted him with her careful heart. The rest of her was feeling uncharacteristically reckless.

He stirred in her embrace with a muttered ‘Bree’ that devolved into a snore. For once, her rational side was losing an argument.

* * *

Jaime seemed to be intent on cracking every knot in his back, and had the audacity to look outrageously good doing it. He was taking up an inordinate amount of the beach towel they were sitting on, watching another glorious Westerlands sunset.

“Can you stop that?,” Brienne griped. By a tenuous unspoken agreement, they had returned to bickering as though nothing had happened.

“I’m an old man, wench, and our mattress is older than I am.”

“Gods, how old _are_ you?”

“Older than I’d like to admit, not nearly as old as this place.”

“Hey! I like this place.”

“I knew you would.”

“It reminds me of Tarth, actually. Although if I was here with my dad, we’d be camping.”

“We’ve been camping.”

“We’ve been sleeping in the van. Camping involves a tent, usually.”

“What would your dad call ‘sleeping in the van,’ if not camping?”

“Life…?”

“I suppose that tracks.”

“We could do some actual camping, if you want. I have a tent.”

“Only if you promise to keep me safe from bears.”

“I’ll buy you bear spray.”

“Not good enough. I want you to _fight_ a bear for me, should the need arise.”

“It won’t! And no one can fight a bear, anyway!”

“You could,” he said, tracing a finger over her bicep. His green eyes were soft when he looked up at her. Suddenly, she had the answer she’d been looking for all day: yes, she realized, she could get past Cersei and Aerys, and all the rest of it, because the way he was looking at her made her feel as if they were the only two people in the world. _If he kissed me, I’d kiss him back_, she thought. _If he hasn’t thought better of it by now_, a malicious voice in her head added.

He didn’t kiss her though. Instead, he leaned back into the sand, following the line of her arm down to lace his fingers with hers.

“Is this okay?,” he asked her side softly. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she squeezed his hand. A long moment of silence passed while she tried to steady her heartbeat.

“I’d fight a bear for you,” she said at last, aiming for lighthearted and ending up at shaky.

“I’d fight a bear for you, too.”

“Camping it is, then.”

He stretched again, apparently making a halfhearted attempt to rise.

“If this is our last night here, I want to show you something.”

“Alright.”

Without letting go of her hand, he sat up and pulled her to her feet. Curious, she followed him down to the beach, then out into the waves. When the water became too deep for them to stand, he kicked into a lazy paddle, leading her further out before cutting north. They skirted a rocky outcrop covered in ice plant, then turned inward to a cove where the pounding of the waves had formed a hollow in the pink stone of the cliffs above. Here, Jaime paused and pulled himself up onto a rock in the shadow of the alcove. Reflected waves shimmered across him, blue and gold.

“This place is incredible,” Brienne whispered as if she were in a sept. The cove felt sacred, secluded away as it was.

“I know,” Jaime whispered back.

He reached out to brush a lock of wet hair from her brow. The simple touch was enough to send a shiver of desire through her. She knew she was blushing, probably all the way down her chest. _As if having a million freckles isn’t ugly enough_.

“Hey,” he said, fingers still resting lightly against her temple.

“What?” It came out more sharply than she intended.

“You look like a mermaid.”

She laughed breathlessly and the moment was broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been very busy recently because of the holidays, but I’m planning to have a new chapter up on Thursday!


	10. Jaime: Outside Pennytree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime exasperates his little brother, and joins Brienne on a hike.

“And this was how long ago?”

“Four nights.” Jaime could hear the melodrama in Tyrion’s sigh even through the sketchy connection.

“And you’ve said nothing to her about it since?”

“She said to give her time.”

“I doubt she meant _pretend it never happened_.”

“What if she doesn’t think of me like that? She never actually said she did, only that it was okay if I kissed her. Gods, what if that was just pity…”

“It seems I should put the fees from my next case towards creating a mirror fund for the recently impoverished and ridiculously modest.”

“So you think she likes me?”

“It is four. In the. Fucking. Morning. In Meereen. Please just stop being a jackass and ask your giantess out to dinner or something.”

“We’re camping.”

“Camping, Jaime? Are you having a midlife crisis? Is that why you’re being such an idiot about Brienne?”

“I think I’m in love with her.”

“Then fucking push her up against a tree or have her push you up against a tree and-“

“Tyrion!,” Jaime interjected sharply. Brienne was returning from the stream by their campsite, water purifier in hand.

“She’s there, isn’t she? Okay. Listen, I have something to tell you, but I need more time. Call me back when it’s not such an ungodsly hour. I expect a full report on all the disgusting things you and your wench have been doing.”

“Tyrion-“

“It’s going to be up to you, you know. From what you’ve told me of her, she’s likely not used to men like you mooning after her.”

“There are no-“

“Yes, yes, I know. All I’m saying is, speaking as a bit of... an unconventional beauty myself, it can be hard to believe you’re not being mocked.” His brother’s tone was uncharacteristically soft. Jaime didn’t know what to say to that, so instead he promised to call Tyrion later and said goodbye.

“Ready?,” Brienne asked.

“To walk uphill all day for no good reason?”

“If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to.”

“I just want to make sure you understand the sacrifice I’m making.”

“It’s not that bad, Jaime. Five point six up, but the rest is either flat or downhill.”

“Five point- the things I do for-”

“And I’ll buy you dinner in town.”

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“I just-”

“Because the answer is yes.”

“You know, I love _quietly_ being in nature.”

“Point taken.” She was already heading down the trail. Cursing her incredibly long legs, he started after her.

If he could have picked anyone to follow into the woods, Brienne would have been his first choice. Her long strides and seemingly endless stamina meant she outpaced him, but she always paused to look over her shoulder for him, sometimes with an approving tilt of her chin. After an eternity passed (Jaime had never been particularly patient) they arrived at their destination: the Hollow Hill.

The massive cave and famous outlaw’s haunt began with a crack in the hillside between two mossy boulders just tall enough for Jaime to follow Brienne through. She had to duck. Inside, the cavern opened echoing and dark all around them, lit only by a single shaft of light that filtered down from a chink in the ceiling. He watched her circle the space for a long moment, her boots making jarring splashes in the stillness.

“I’ve always wanted to see this place, but it’s so much… more than I imagined,” she said at last.

“I know.” There was a tension, an electricity in the cool air. Maybe it was Lady Stoneheart’s curse, like in the old stories, but it didn’t feel like that. Maybe it was just that Brienne had paused her exploration directly under the crack in the ceiling, sunlight gilding her features. She looked _mythic_, like she belonged in those old stories. 

“Worth the hike?”

“Eh.”

“Jaime!”

“You could-” he quirked an eyebrow, “-make it worth the hike.”

“What did you have in mind?” Her cheeks were flaming, but she was playing along. He closed the distance between them in two steps.

“You could kiss me.” He barely finished the suggestion before she took it. Her lips were soft and tentative on his, but her hands were strong as she took his shoulders and pulled him into the light.

“Was that… was I okay?,” she asked breathlessly. He answered with another kiss, this one deeper and less hesitant. Her mouth parted on a sigh as his arms wrapped around her waist, drawing their bodies together. Wanting to make her make that sound again, he slid his tongue against her lower lip. Her grip on his shoulders tightened, and Seven Hells, she was going to find out exactly how much her strength turned him on if he didn’t pull away. _Pull away. Damn you. Fuck_.

“Fuck.” It came out half a curse, half a sigh.

“You too?”

“Of course, me too, Brienne.” He leaned forward to give her another kiss, a chaste one this time. 

“We should have done that ages ago,” she said wonderingly.

“Help me make up for lost time.” It seemed to Jaime that that was exactly what they were doing as she took his hand and lead him through the caverns, punctuating each historical tidbit with a kiss.


	11. Brienne: Folkswagon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne weighs the benefits and drawbacks of leaving the back of the van. Jaime is largely unhelpful.

Calm, reliable Brienne Tarth was about to lose her virginity in the back of her dad’s old van. Jaime was on top of her, raining soft kisses down her neck. He filled her senses, warm, solid, a little scratchy from a day without shaving. Pressed up against a mess of sleeping bags, she took it all in, somewhat overwhelmed. He was also, as she noticed when she wrapped her legs around him, hard. _Oh_. She wasn’t naive, she knew, in theory, that men got like this, but she hadn’t known it was so literal. Or that she would want so badly to be closer. If she just reached between them…

All of the sudden, she felt unsteady. Bizarrely, she thought of the day her teacher had taken the girls in her fifth grade class aside to tell them to be careful, that boys would want things from them, and that it was their job to say no. Someone had whispered that Brienne the Beauty was safe.

Jaime must have noticed she was lost in her head, then, because he pulled away, with a murmured “is this okay?.” Truth be told, it was more than okay, and that was what had frozen her.

“Just- give me-” she stumbled over excuses as she stumbled from the van, suddenly clumsy. A confused Jaime blinked sleepily at her. She could still taste his toothpaste on her tongue.

Outside, a sparklingly crisp Riverlands morning greeted her. She breathed in the cold air, filling her lungs with the frosty smell of sentinel bark.

“Brienne?,” Jaime asked, soft and husky. She hadn’t noticed him following her. “Are you… are we going too fast?”

By some people’s standards (the role of ‘some people’ being played by her fifth grade teacher, Ms. Roelle) she knew they were. She had devoted her career to fighting outdated mores like this one. Still, it had been less than twenty four hours since their first kiss.

“It was just a little much, that’s all,” she said.

“Maybe we could set some ground rules.” Brienne considered it.

“Pants on. Just for now, but, no pantslessness.” He grinned at that. “What?”

“Just picturing you topless.”

“You’re-” she couldn’t find a way to finish the insult with him looking at her like that. The image of shirtless Jaime in her arms had been preoccupying enough that she hadn’t considered the rule applying to her. He sat back on the tailgate, and she followed.

“Come back to bed,” he implored gently, tugging her forward with one leg. She was about to argue that the back of the van hardly counted. Instead, she took another deep breath, and obliged.

She pushed him back onto the pile of sleeping bags and blankets as her lips met his. The kiss was soft for a moment, then decidedly not so. When he stroked her bottom lip with his tongue, the arm that had been braced behind him gave way, and she nearly fell into the van with him. _Damn him_. Everything he did, from his hand on her waist, to his breath tickling her collarbone, to his low voice in her ear, was making the warm ache in her belly worse. There was a brief struggle as Jaime made a halfhearted attempt to get back on top. His squirming was entirely too pleasant for her to let him go.

One of her hands found the bottom of his tee. He stretched extravagantly as she tugged it over his head. Underneath, he was just as perfect as she remembered. Only now, she learned his skin was hot under her fingers, that he was somehow soft and hard all at once, that tracing the sword inked on his side made him shiver. She kissed down his neck, then, feeling bold, sucked at the hollow of his throat. That made his hands flex, digging into the small of her back, so she dipped her head lower and took one of his nipples into her mouth.

“Stranger- fuck!” Brienne pulled back abruptly at his pained tone.

“I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?”

“Here, let me show you.” He gave her one of his wicked smiles. His hands found the bottom of her shirt in a silent question. She nodded.

Nothing could have prepared her for the way he looked at her.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he said at last.

“I usually don’t. I mean, why-” She was suddenly self conscious.

“Don’t tell me things like that, wench.”

“Why not?," she asked. Jaime groaned, all theatricality.

“Because now I won’t be able to stop thinking about you like this, even when you’re leading me on a death march, or telling me all about Great Council precedents.”

“That sounds like your problem.”

“I also won’t be able to stop thinking of you like this.” Having successfully distracted her, he succeeded at getting on top. She caught a brief flash of dark green eyes before his mouth met hers as his hands caressed her breasts. He kissed her languidly, drawing out every touch until she was arching into him, her mouth chasing his. Even then, he went slowly, kissing along her jaw and stopping to nibble at her ear while he teased her nipples with feather-light touches. Frustrated, she wrapped her legs around him, but the friction only made it worse.

“Jaime,” she complained. He looked up at her smugly.

“Is there something I should be doing?”

“Your mouth-” she tried.

“Like this?” He sucked at a random spot just above the swell of her breast.

“Lower.” That made him laugh, a laugh that became a strangled groan when her legs tightened.

“Keep doing that.” A little confused, she experimentally flexed her thighs. _Oh_.

Jaime’s breath teased her sensitive skin as he kissed down her chest, stopping occasionally for the apparent pleasure of making her squirm with impatience. All the while, his hips rocked against her, torturously slowly. She was close before she had time to be embarrassed by it. Jaime must have known, because he focused at last, taking a pearled nipple into his mouth and pressing his erection against the place she needed the pressure most. Within two heartbeats, she came hard, stifling a cry in Jaime’s shoulder. For a long moment, there was only him.

When she came back to herself, he had collapsed on top of her, breathing hard. Her limbs felt impossibly heavy, but she held onto him anyway, not thinking she could stand it if he pulled away. Fortunately, he seemed to have no inclination to move, apart from idly stroking her hair. Soon, she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

“Have you seen my shirt?”

“No,” Jaime said, a little too quickly.

“C’mon. We need to leave the van sometime.”

“Do we though?”

“I need breakfast.”

“I think I left a Mopatis bar back here when we packed up the tent.”

“I said breakfast, Jaime, not chocolate. Aren’t you hungry?”

“No,” he said as his stomach growled. “Okay, maybe a little, but I can think of other ways to be satisfied.” He licked his lips. _Damn him_.

“That’s disgusting.”

“We could build a whole self-sustaining van society, if you wanted.”

“Two people doesn’t make a society.”

“I’d vote for you for president.”

“Oh really. And you would be…”

“A sexy intern-”

“Jaime!”

“-close to your own age who doesn’t report to you.”

“That’s better.”

“Thank you, Madame President.”

“Help me find my shirt.”

“I told you, you’re not my boss in this scenario.”

“I’ll buy you waffles.”

“It’s under me. Help me up.”

“You’re a godsawful useless intern,” she said, tugging at his arms even as he slouched. Sure enough, her shirt was there, along with his, and several miscellaneous socks.

“Ehm, Brienne,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically embarrassed, “can you pass me some pants? I think I left a pair under the tent.” _Oh_. She hadn’t considered that.

“Remind me not to let you organize anything.” She kept her tone light, and her gaze fixed firmly out the rear window as he changed. Outside, the sun was setting. So much for breakfast.

When she thought it was safe to look, he was turned away from her, tugging his shirt over a dappling of little purple bruises. She brushed her thumb over one with dawning comprehension.

“Oh gods, did I do that? I’m so sorry.”

“Did you do what?”

“Your back, I think I held onto you too hard-” He cut off her apology with a soft kiss. His hands stroked the callouses on hers, tracing the marks left by years of solitary strength. When at last he broke away, he was smiling almost shyly.

“So, breakfast?,” he asked.


	12. Jaime: Folkswagon II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A job offer forces Jaime to think about the future.

_I could get used to this_, Jaime thought upon waking in Brienne’s arms. They had settled into an easy routine the past few days: Brienne would steal away at dawn for a run and a shower, before slipping into his sleeping bag to doze beside him. He would stir and pull her closer, as he was doing now. The piney smell of her soap brought back certain memories from the night before…

“Bree-”

“-enne,” she finished.

“I can’t give you a nickname?”

“My name is Brienne.” This was not the first time they’d had this argument. It grew softer and more comfortable every time, like slipping into an old sweater.

“Fine. How about lover, warrior goddess, my sun and stars.”

“We’re not really lovers.”

“Don’t be so heteronormative.”

“Ah, so you do listen when I talk.” He twisted in her arms so he was facing her, looking into those incredible eyes.

“Virginity is a social construct, my darling Nymeria re-incarnate.”

“You’ve come so far from ‘wench.’”

“All thanks to you, beloved She Wolf.” Without meaning to, he had alluded to Winterfell. He wondered if Brienne had noticed, if he was imagining the edge in her voice when she told him to go back to sleep.

_Is this over once we get to Winterfell?_ He had been avoiding the question, lest the uncertainty ruin his remaining time on the road with Brienne, but he couldn’t help but dwell on it in quiet moments like this one.

His phone rang, cutting off his reverie. He sat up. _Tyrion. Shit_. He had been meaning to call his brother back. He left the van before answering so as to not wake Brienne, who appeared to be sleeping.

* * *

“Is everything okay?”

“Mmm… oh, yeah, everything’s fine.”

“Because you’re looking at your coffee like it contains all the secrets of the universe.”

“I’m…” he trailed off. How to explain the swirl of feelings that Tyrion’s call had brought on? How to even breach the topic without it leading to _is this over after Winterfell?_ That was a conversation he wasn’t ready for.

“I was thinking of visiting Raventree today, if that’s alright.” Her tone was light, but there was a guarded look in her eyes. “My dad and I went when I was a kid. There’s not much of the castle left, but the tree’s still there, I remember a raven trying to steal my cookie…”

_Bless her_. At first, he had thought she was incurious, but he came to find her mercifully tactful. The unwelcome thought of what Cersei would have done if he’d refused to answer her questions came to him. _She probably would’ve thrown her coffee in my face_.

“I was actually wondering if we could go to the Wall.” Because, fuck it, he was never going to find someone as incredible as Brienne. Asking her to stay with him had to be worth the risk, right?

“What?”

Just like that, the story poured out of him. He told her how Tyrion’s boss, Daenerys Targaryen was planning to take the Baratheon administration to court for campaign finance violations, how she’d offered him a job if, like his brother, he was brave enough to go to war with his father. He told her how accepting would mean an interview with an associate of Ms. Targaryen’s, the nearest of whom was at the Wall. He told her it would mean moving to Meereen, at least for now.

“...and I’m not sure if I can even take it because who am I, you know? No, you don’t- your family’s not- you’re you because you’re good, and honest, and kind, and so fucking smart without even trying. I’m only me because of my father, and if I take this job, I’ll only be me because of Tyrion-“

“Jaime.” She said it quietly, but his rambling stopped all the same. Suddenly, he was embarrassed for sharing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” he shrugged helplessly, unable to meet her eyes.

“Listen. What you did for Rhaella, no wonder her daughter wants you on her side. And Tyrion… have you ever thought this might be his way of thanking you? For when you were kids, I mean.”

He nearly told her how much he loved her. Instead, he took her hand in his, trying to put all his feelings into the gesture.

“I think you should take the job,” she said after a long moment.

He sighed, finally daring to meet her eyes.

“I think I should, too.”

“We’d better get going. It’s a long way to the Wall.” She pushed the last of her omelette away and downed her coffee.

“Are you sure-” but she was already rising.

* * *

Brienne insisted on driving, citing the distance they needed to cover and Jaime’s penchant for following meandering backroads, so they made good time that day. From the passenger seat, Jaime observed the tightness in her jaw and her uneasy silences. He would have given much and more to know what she was thinking.

Even with her at the wheel, night was falling by the time they reached the Crossroads. The network of overpasses emerged from the woods, yellow lights blinding after the long dark miles they’d crossed. Suddenly, there was traffic on all sides of them as people changed lanes and fought for position. Brienne’s knuckles whitened, and she nearly missed their exit.

“I wouldn’t mind a trip to the Eyrie,” Jaime said, too casually. “We could go skiing.”

“We have to get to the Wall.”

“There’s no rush, you still have what- three weeks?”

“Still.”

“Are you sure-“

“I’m sure. I just want this over with.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means- Seven Hells, Jaime, do we really have to do this?”

“Apparently yes, since I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I know that we’re- that this has to end eventually, as much as I might want- so can we just part ways on good terms? And quickly? Because otherwise, I’m going to- to fucking beg and I-“ She was close to tears, he could tell, but he didn’t understand why until the full meaning of her words hit him.

“I don’t want this to be over either. Maybe ever.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So if you feel the same-“

“I do.”

“What about Meereen?”

“You should take the job. We can make it work.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re fucking incredible?” That made her blush so furiously he could see it even in the dim yellow light.

“I'm glad we talked-“

“Me too,” he said quickly.

“Yeah.”

There was a giddy pause.

“Jai-“

“Yeah?”

“Put your seat back.” He would have questioned her, but he knew that expression by heart. When her brow set like that, she would brook no argument. The van crossed two lanes of traffic and screeched to a halt on the shoulder, and then she was climbing out of her seat and into his.

He kissed her freckles, kissed the bump where someone had broken her nose, kissed the soft place by her ear. He kissed the curve of her smile like he was never going to stop, because maybe he wouldn’t have to.

Someone was knocking on the driver’s window.

Brienne buried her face in Jamie’s shoulder while he cavalierly informed the City Watchman that, yes, they were fine, and yes, they’d be sure to get a room. He could feel her laughing.

_Gods, I love her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may have noticed that my estimate for how long this is going to be keeps changing. Fear not, I’m still following my original outline, I just can’t resist adding more fluff ;)


	13. Brienne: Crossroads Motel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime get a room.

As Brienne pulled the van off the shoulder and merged onto the Kingsroad, heavy raindrops were plinking against the windshield. By the time she and Jaime had found a likely exit, the rain was coming down so hard they could barely see. They followed a glowing neon sign to the Crossroads Motel. The short walk from the van to the motel’s little office was enough to plaster Brienne’s hair flat to her head and soak Jaime’s tee. Heavy droplets sparkled in his lashes, and in the golden fuzz at the nape of his neck. The effect was surreally lovely. He caught her looking and winked. The giddiness she’d felt after their conversation in the van was back, filling her chest with mirth. A laugh bubbled out of her before she could remember to be serious, to be herself. _What in the Mother’s name has gotten into me?_

“One king or two queens?,” asked the clerk.

“King,” replied Brienne. She didn’t dare look at Jaime, but she felt his hand brush hers.

It took them entirely too long to cross to their room, mostly because Jaime insisted on kissing her. He pressed her against someone else’s tailgate, sliding his tongue along her lip until she let him in, smiling. Maybe it was the rain, or maybe it was the red glow of the vacancy sign, but she thought his green eyes were shining.

There was an awkward moment after they crossed the threshold, the door to their room shutting with a click that was deafening in the small space. Brienne shed her jacket and tee, and looked over to see that Jaime had stripped down to his boxers. A flicker of bravado led her to pull down her clammy jeans, too. Nearly naked, she met his eyes leveally, daring him to make some comment.

“Can we turn the light on?”

“Why?”

“I can barely see you.” He kissed her shoulder almost idly as he slid behind her and reached for the lamp. “There.”

“I’m sorry if-,” but he cut her off with a kiss. His hands slid around her waist, drawing her closer. She shivered at the slip of skin on skin. After a long moment had passed, he deepened the kiss as if asking her a silent question. In answer, she opened her mouth to him as she leaned into his embrace. He ran a hand down her side to cup her sex through her thin cotton panties.

“I’m interested in seeing how many ways I can make you come without taking these off.” His voice in her ear was low and darkly inviting.

“Jaime, please-”

“Can I try right now?” She nodded, nervous and wanting all at once, because this was further than they had gone before. “Renly made a good point about changing the tax brackets.”

Some of her tension faded as she laughed despite herself.

“Close, but not quite.”

“I’ll keep trying. We have all night.” She kissed him, desire pooling in her belly at the sound of his voice, at the brush of his fingers so close to her bare skin. _Be brave_.

“You can take them off.”

“Oh.” He tugged her panties down. “Do you want to sit on the bed?”

“Jaime you don’t have to-”

“I want to. If it’s okay.” With a nod, she sat. He knelt in front of her with his hands resting on her knees. Almost without meaning to, she spread her legs for him. She could feel his satisfied smirk when he dropped his head to her thigh, kissing her mere inches from where she needed him.

“Please-”

“Like this?,” he asked, sucking at her hip-bone.

“Fucking hell, Jaime, focus.”

“You should boss me around more often,” he said. There was an oddness to the way he said it, as if he were expecting to be told off. _Tell him what you want_.

“Stop talking and do something useful with your mouth.” It sounded stilted to her, but it worked. His hands dug into her thighs even as he dipped his head between them. With gentle strokes of his tongue, he explored her slick folds and parted them. He circled her clit, drawing an unsteady breath from her before finally, mercifully, he began to stroke it. The pressure mounted in Brienne and she took his head in both her hands, clinging to him for dear life. It was all too much; the feel of his mouth on her, the way he looked up at her when he paused for air, the knowledge that Jaime, her Jaime, was doing this to her. She cried his name when her release took her. Over her head, stars danced in the shadows cast by the bedside lamp.

After a long moment, awareness returned to her. Jaime was still between her legs, somehow looking smug and shy all at once. She leaned down to kiss him and he rose to meet her, arms wrapping around her waist in a tangle of limbs. His mouth on hers was hot, urgent. Moments before, she had been sated. Now, she needed him more than ever. She broke away.

“I want more. I want all of it,” she breathed.

“I want that, too. Just… it’s been almost sixteen years, so lower your expectations.” That oddness was back in his voice.

“I promise to only expect mediocrity.”

“Worse. Think... going to buy chocolate only to realize you’ve left your wallet at home.” He pulled her closer.

“Alright. I’m ready to be disappointed, so _disappoint_ me already.” This time, the command came naturally. He obliged.

She couldn’t have said exactly how they got there, but soon she was spread sideways across the bed, and Jaime was on top of her. He kissed down her jaw to the hollow of her throat as she slid down his boxers. There was a breathless pause as he searched his discarded jeans for a condom, but it gave way to delicious anticipation as he closed the distance between them again. When he took one of her nipples in his mouth, she arched into him, feeling his erection slide against her. Her hips bucked, seeking pressure. She felt suddenly empty, wanting. He must have sensed her desperation because he reached between them and positioned himself. Ever gentle, he tried to enter her slowly, but she tilted her hips and took him in all at once. Instead of the pain she had been expecting, there was only an uncomfortable tightness that gave way to pleasure as he kissed her and told her how brave she was. She answered by wrapping her legs around him, and, _oh_, that felt right in a way she couldn’t have anticipated. So right that when he pulled back slightly, his absence made her shiver.

“Please-,” she breathed. He thrust into her again, building a rhythm. One of his hands tilted her chin up so her mouth met his, while the other stroked her clit. Her arms and legs tightened around him, and he must have liked that, because his breathing became erratic. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed, and she clung to him, biting back a cry.

“Brienne, did you-”

“Yes.”

“Thank the- _fuck_\- Brienne!” He shuddered in her arms, and she was so overstimulated she almost pulled away, but this was Jaime, so she only held him tighter. A moment later, he collapsed on top of her, whispering sweet nonsense into her hair. She fell asleep with her arms still wrapped around him.

* * *

Brienne woke to sunlight streaming through the slatted curtains to fall on Jaime, who was spread diagonally across the bed and sleeping soundly. Carefully disentangling herself, she rose and laced up her running shoes.

When she returned, he was exactly as she had left him, so she took a quick shower and wrapped herself in a robe before slipping into bed beside him.

“Hey,” he muttered sleepily.

“Hey.”

“C’mere.” He pulled her tightly against her side. The ease of the gesture alleviated her remaining uncertainty.

“Last night was… I didn’t know it could be like that.”

“Like what?”

She puzzled over her reply for a moment too long, ending on a lame “_good_.”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Ah, my Brienne, ever the stoic.”

“It was better than good, it was… please tell me you know what I mean.”

“I do. I just wanted to hear you say it. Makes it more real somehow.”

“You were-,” again, she struggled to find words.

“I wasn’t.”

“Don’t be modest,” she admonished.

“No one has ever accused me of that before. But seriously. It can be better.”

“Show me?” With a soft laugh, he leaned in to kiss her.

_We are never leaving this motel room_, she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, apologies for the delayed updates. I was working full time through March, but now I have lots of free time, which is somehow worse for my overall level of productivity...


	14. Jaime: Greywater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime learns to dress like a Northerner, somewhat against his will.

Jaime would have been content to never visit The North. Given a choice, he would have turned the van around the moment they (finally) left the Crossroads Motel and headed for the Mountains of the Moon, or maybe back to Dorne. The Water Gardens were supposed to be lovely in early spring. Instead, he was driving through seemingly endless wetlands under slate skies, shivering despite the extra fleece Brienne had lent him. In the passenger’s seat, she dozed contentedly, and he felt a flash of pride. Tiring her out was quite the challenge.

Up ahead, he saw the first exit since the province line. He didn’t want to wake Brienne, but another sign informed him that this was the last exit with services for nearly two hundred miles.

“Where are we?,” she asked when he stopped in the little town square.

“Greywater.”

“Huh. I guess they finally picked a spot to settle down.” His confusion must’ve shown on his face, because she added a faintly embarrassed, “Historical reference.”

“Remember, I only paid attention to parts of history with sword fights.”

“Right. You know, I’ve actually been through here before, back when Renly was first preparing to run.” She paused to scan the street. “I knew this place had a thrift shop! You should go, I’ll find coffee.”

He was about to ask why, but he realized he’d forgotten to hide his shivers.

“You’re brilliant.”

“Buy something for your interview while you’re at it.” She checked the deserted square for onlookers before leaning in to kiss him. How, he wondered, could someone be so effortlessly assertive and yet so shy? Even her contradictions were loveable.

Twenty minutes later, she found him searching for the least offensive jacket from a selection of styles older than he was. She bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh.

“What are you wearing?”

“For the interview,” he said. Moments before, he’d been proud of the outfit, which comprised dark slacks and a silky button down, both stylishly snug.

“Jaime, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like a tele-septon who’s afraid his viewers will find out he’s going bald.”

“I have hair.”

“Not the point,” she said, reaching out to brush her fingers along his temple.

“I agree with you about the shirt, I guess,” he admitted.

“Come with me. I have an idea.” She led him to a rack and offered him a charcoal fisherman’s sweater.

“Are we planning to climb the Frostfangs?”

“Trust me.”

“Dress me like your very own Shiera doll.”

“Wouldn’t you be Aurane?”

“Gender is a social construct." That made her arch an eyebrow at him. "Shiera has better hair.”

“So Aurane would be more accurate, then.”

"_Enough_, already."

“Didn’t your sister… try to fuck a staffer called Aurane?” By an unspoken agreement, they were trying to gradually make the topic of Cersei less fraught.

“She did. Offered him a Small Council seat and everything.”

“The First Lady can’t do that.”

“No. That’s why he went to the press, she couldn’t deliver,” he said. Brienne laughed her sharp, unselfconscious laugh. Then, she frowned.

“Is she… alright?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I only know what’s in the papers.”

“Ooh, this is good!,” she said, holding up a silk shirt covered in little embroidered dogs. Jaime was content to let her change the subject.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Fortunately for you, I’m not.”

“I never knew you cared about this stuff.”

“When I was a kid, I loved dress-up, but then I had my first growth spurt, and...”

“Who says that has to matter?”

“One of your buttons just gave up.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway. I have a proposal.” That made her look up from the gap in his shirt. He barely maintained his composure. “I’ll wear a practical Northern sweater if you’ll find the most ridiculous dress in this store and put it on.” Miraculously, she nodded.

He changed quickly while Brienne searched. The interview outfit was surprisingly presentable; the sweater itched, but the overall effect was handsome. He flashed his reflection a quick grin. When he knocked on her changing room door, she told him to come in, sounding flustered. He quickly learned why. Her back was turned to him, and she was struggling to close a cloud of rose tulle, cursing the zipper in her soft, vehement way. A halo of staticky blonde hair hid her face.

“Brienne,” he implored, tugging her hands away from the closure.

“Please don’t laugh.” She faced him, defiant. Between her wild blue eyes and the deep flush revealed by the dress that was threatening to slide off her shoulders, he couldn’t help but kiss her. Her embarrassment clearly forgotten, she pulled him closer.

_I love you_. He wasn't brave enough yet to say it out loud, but he hoped small moments like this could show her it was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some chapters carry the characters forward. Some are pure silliness.


End file.
